Little Fires
by katherine-with-a-k
Summary: bonfire night on new years eve, and anne and gilbert get a little hot under the collar! love to know what you think...


"_Anne had one awful moment of wondering if it really was Gilbert or a stranger."_

"_There was a concert in the hall one night, with a party at Abner Sloane's after it..."_

"_Gilbert drove them to the hall. How like old times it was! Only Katherine was with her in place of Diana."_

_** Anne of Windy Willows: the second year**_

_ -This story takes place in the winter preceding "the Uninvited Guest" where Anne and Gilbert attend the bonfire mentioned in that story and they both get a little hot under the collar...  
_

_with love and gratitude to L.M. Montgomery -everything is hers, only this idea is mine._

**_LITTLE FIRES_**

"Gil,"Anne breathed, and lent closer to his ear, "Do you suppose Katherine will survive all those Gillis'? I think I may have agreed too quickly when they begged if she might go with them; what a squash it will be for her, while our own sleigh is half empty."

She glanced back over her soft cashmere collar to the empty seat behind them.

But to those not of the realm of Anne and Gilbert it was plain to see there was no space for a third passenger. Tonight the abundance of furtive caresses between the two would have made even the most hard-nosed passenger wait for a less crowded ride. And Anne did not dispel this notion now, nuzzling deeper into Gilbert's shoulder.

Gilbert found he had even less to regret. The feel of Anne's glossy hair, that peeped from her cap and brushed against his cheek, warmed him as a fire, and he wished their speckled mare would not march them quite so quickly to their destination. But he knew too, Anne would be thinking of Katherine, her very Anne-ish addition to the Christmas holiday.

When Anne wrote of her intention to invite her colleague to stay, Gilbert was frank about his misgivings, for what he had read about Miss Brook in previous letters frustrated as much as intrigued him. But the person he met in the Cuthbert's cheery parlour was not the poisonous schoolmarm he expected, and he hourly witnessed her icy exterior chip and flake away just as one might scratch a frosted window pane to reveal a merry scene behind the glass. Of course Anne ascribed Katherine's transformation to the magic of Green Gables, but Gilbert knew, as all came to know of this wonderful girl, that the true magic lay within Anne.

He leaned in closer; that the world around them was muffled in great drifts of snow was no reason for them both to make _very_ sure their words should be well heard; placing their lips close to each other's cheeks, ears and throats.

"I wouldn't worry, oh Anne-est of Annes. I'm sure that Arty Gillis will take good care of your friend."

She nudged him with enough vigour to ensure he felt it through his thick winter coverings.

"Gilbert Blythe, you'd make a terrible match-maker! Arty Gillis is an engaged man."

"He is not. I happen to know that went cold weeks ago."

"What, again? Poor old Arty..."

"A very fortunate Arty I should have thought." said the man who quietly pitied any fellow not lucky enough to have won the affections of a certain red haired school mistress. "He wooed her heart and she lost her stomach..." -this whilst choking back a poorly disguised snicker.

"He was coming to her aid; he _rescued_ her..!" Anne felt more than meant what she said.

"Like a knight in plaid flannel armour."

"Yes, just like that. And no doubt giving her the full use of his helmet-" she couldn't finish for laughing.

"I think it would have been a case of ladies first there, Anne -_he_ was just as sick as _she_ was? Or don't you remember the tale we had at dinner with the Gillis' last fall?"

Anne did remember. This tale of a high seas romance (that had been nothing more than a rough gulf crossing to Kingsport) was regaled with some relish by the once future Mrs Arthur Gillis, who re-enacted _every_ detail for their pleasure during the soup course. Could Anne ever look at a bowl of chowder again? Still, other matches had been made from less, it was said Stanley and Roland Garnett of Middle Grafton, decided who should win the hand of Millicent Granger with a bet upon whose harvest was the greater; the one with the smaller yield then yielding to the requirements of Mrs Granger. It made Arty Gillis' engagement seem sweetly sincere in comparison.

"Poor old Arty," Anne could not seem to say his name without these piteous additions.

"_Poor old Arty..._ He seemed in fine fettle when he was assisting Katherine Brooke into their sleigh, tucking all those rugs around her..."

Gilbert knew exactly the look that would be on Anne's face.

"Well, if his heart is broken it's scarcely common knowledge; I have spent part of every day with Rachel Lynde herself, and she has never mentioned it. So how is it _you_ come to know such a secret piece of news?" she asked.

"Oh, that was not earned cheaply, I assure you. Arty's great-aunt, old Mrs Penhallow, told me all about it, _after_ she had me look at her crooked toes."

A shiver not entirely caused by the freezing weather went through him.

"Oh dear, not even qualified and already half of Avonlea are quietly mentioning their aches and pains to you, although," -Anne laughing again before she could continue, "being a doctor does bring _some_ benefits, I suppose. I expect you shall be a great source for gossip when we are married."

He released the rein from one hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

"When we are married, Anne" he murmured, "I hope I shall be the source of so much more than that."

Gilbert's words fell like a snowy mantle upon them; silencing them as soundly as their surrounds; so that one might assume that neither was thinking just then of the security of a doctor's income or his unwavering devotion -though these were no small comforts by any estimation. Neither spoke, as neither could explain, why their thoughts both turned, now -with the same inevitability that their sleigh fell into the tracks of the one preceding them- to the visit they made two days ago, to Mrs Wright's bedside, where they were introduced to her velvet haired daughter.

That blessed room yet glowed with its miracle, and Gilbert and Anne had burned under the knowing glances of the proud parents. As exquisite as it was to gaze upon her own little name-sake, Anne had a peculiar feeling, even as she took the tiny baby into her arms and Gilbert's finger was grasped tightly by a tiny hand, that they were both being gazed at themselves; like some Christmas tableau. How thankful they had been for Katherine's presence, her coos and flurries quietening the words written clearly on the faces of Diana and Fred: _one day this will be you_.

Anne looked out into the darkness beyond the light from their sleigh -which seemed to cradle her thoughts as hands sheltered a kindled flame- and went to her own House of Dreams. To think that such a home was here, nestled in a cosy quiet corner somewhere on this Island, waiting for them. That within those walls she would learn what it was to be a wife to Gilbert, and know how it felt to have him for her husband. And that this same little house, still yet undiscovered, might be blessed, just as the Wright's had been, with darling little babies of all their own making. Anne shivered lightly and Gilbert pulled her close to him, with the naturalness and ease he might have moved part of his own body; the sleigh spilling over with everything that can be said between lovers without a word being spoken.

And then, too soon, he was brushing his warm lips over her hair, and removing his arm from her shoulder to take full hold of the reins once more. Ahead of them, in the beam of their lanterns, another sled appeared, slowing it's speed on seeking the approach to Abner Sloane's homestead, and behind them the ring of another bell and another party's shrieks and hoots could just be heard. But for the present the two inside this sleigh remained in a curious, intimate, sensuous silence until the lights of the Sloane's house lit upon their faces.

**...**

"Thank you, but no," said Anne a little breathlessly, "I'm sitting this one out and going for some air, I think."

She looked over her shoulder to the front door where Gilbert was standing, waiting.

Rob Wright, was also standing and waiting. His hand still pressed into Anne's, and she felt, to her annoyance, the slightest tug toward the floor where the next dance was about to begin. Rob looked over to where Anne's eyes had glanced, but still would not release her.

"Going for some air! There'll be precious little air being got, I'd say -not unless Blythe's going to blow some your way. Come on, Anne, what do you say? Dougal Barry says they'll play a jig next. You will be wanting some air after that, and then I will escort you myself."

"That's thoughtful of you, Robert-"

"-Robert?"

"Rob. But as can see Gilbert is waiting for me-"

"-and he can _keep _waiting."

"But I cannot. Robert." Anne quickly withdrew her hand and gave a little shrug, before turning and walking to the door.

"_Going_ for some air. _Putting_ on airs, I should say." Rob Wright was rather pleased with this, and went back into the throng to find someone to repeat it to.

Gilbert helped Anne on with her coat. It was rather unpleasant to pile more clothing on, the soft woollen fabric and jaunty little cap felt tight and itchy, but outside the air was sweet and clear as melting ice, and Anne drank it in just as deeply. Other people, in couples and in threes, congregated around the Sloane's porch, but she and Gilbert continued quickly past; he tucking her hand around his arm, and leading her down the salt strewn steps to the garden. A wide path had been dug through to the gate where it lead to a field of black tilled earth with snow piped thick and white along it.

In its midst was a massive shape, blackish grey, snarled and torn. It was the fallen trunk of an ancient oak pulled up from the storm they'd had just after Christmas. The great tree had such a girth that Abner Sloane despaired of ever digging it up, though because of its size he could easily manoeuvre the plough around it. And now it lay like a present to Mr Sloane from Providence itself, the hardest work all done for him, and needing nothing more than it's lifting and loading to the mill. Three large sections sat already cut and ready for the wagon, but the great oak's base, with its shock of roots spanning out like branches in their own right, could not be tamed by the saw, and now sat cracked, dry, and ripe for a fire.

Like moths to that flame were half a dozen big-sized boys and a couple of girls besides, talking idly of turning this web of wood into a wonderful bonfire. At first each spoke as if the words themselves might ignite the tree, but now the talk was of who was going to risk Abner Sloane's temper, not to say that of their own parents, and do the deed. Gilbert and Anne listened in for a moment; all who were not Sloanes insisting Sloanes should be made to do it, and, Sloanes, being Sloanes, quite unable to. Anne thanked the stars above that Davy was not here, though she knew once he heard he had missed such an opportunity he would be cursing those same constellations.

"Pity Davy wasn't here," said Gilbert, "that stump would be charcoal by now!"

Anne shot him a pert look.

"Pity you it's not 1878 instead of 1888, those boys just remind me of you and Fred and Charlie and Cliff!"

"And those two girls?"

"Should be wearing their hats." Anne answered swiftly.

"You sound like a school-mistress." Gilbert teased, and plucked her cap from her head, holding it aloft and jogging away from her. They ducked and dived around the grounds for some minutes until panting and pink cheeked they stopped, and stood quietly before each other, breathing in the little clouds the other had made, the hat quite forgot. Then a peel of laughter erupted from Anne.

"What?" Gilbert asked.

"Oh Gil, I don't know why I'm laughing. It was something Rob Wright said to me. I just thought of it again now."

"You didn't seem to find him funny when you were talking to him."

"So you noticed."

"Yes. I noticed. Oh Anne-" he turned from her, a look of disbelief on his face, "-I notice something else too..."

Anne smelt it before her head was turned. The oak stump was on fire!

Later the people of Avonlea would describe this night with great affection as the 'Night of the Bonfire.' Other details would be argued over: was it A New Year's or a Christmas party? Didn't Abner Sloane's nephew announce his engagement? -No to be sure it was Mrs and Mrs Peter's thirtieth anniversary! Such arguments were prized open and chewed over like little nut-meats for years to come, but not a one would argue that this bonfire was a wonder not likely to be seen in Avonlea again.

This of course was later. Expressions of wonder were the least of it when the fire whet its appetite on the gnarled and dried up tendrils at the base of the tree and then began to devour the solid trunk with a white hot roar. Anne and Gilbert's first thoughts were of the whereabouts of the youths who had invoked this beast, and on seeing their old school teachers they hastened over white faced, where heads and names were accounted for (as they had been in the great storm nearly ten years before) and parents waded anxiously through the snow to find their mislaid children.

But no one was marched indignantly back home and few thought to return to the house, excepting to retrieve coats and hats. The fire had them all in thrall. Cracks and sparks held everyone at bay, and noting the respectful distance they kept, the fire resolved to reform itself. The hissing and spitting became a merry sizzle and the flames like golden light. Gradually the party moved itself to the field, and Anne and Gilbert found themselves amongst the very crowds they'd escaped from. Katherine, however, was a welcome sight, her amber eyes like little fires of happiness, as she beheld the spectacle.

"Oh, I must go in, I promised Mr Boulter the next dance. But oh, Anne, I feel almost entranced, as though the fire was communicating with me. Does that sound strange?"

"Yes, I'd say the first part of your words were _very_ strange, oh Katherine-with-a-K! I am confident Daniel Boulter can stand the wait, _if_ he even needs to -isn't that the man who played the piano just over there?- but the latter part of what you say, well that sounds _very_ sensible to my ears. I believe that fire _is_ talking to you, I imagine it thinks your eyes must make you some sort of kin!"

"Then it must be talking to you too, Miss Anne-with-an-e!" Katherine countered, looking directly at Anne's uncovered head; the flames of the fire made her hair almost writhe with colour.

"My little cap!" Anne's hands flew up to where it should have been, and then her eyes to the man who should have had it in his keeping.

"It must be just beyond the gate, Anne, I won't be long."

Gilbert collided with another couple in his haste, and awkwardly manoeuvred around them, as they strutted headlong through the crowd to get to directly by the fire.

"_Still_ got Gilbert Blythe at your beck and call, I see." Josie Pye said with a smile.

"He lost my hat," was Anne's brief response.

"Oh, _you_ weren't wearing any hat, Anne! How can we admire you hair otherwise?" She turned to Katherine to explain her remark. "Anne has _always_ said she hated the colour of her hair, but I often wondered if it were not some little trick to draw people's attention to it." This comment brought such a look to Katherine's face that Josie had to amend her words rather promptly, "But, of course why shouldn't she? I've even heard that colour is actually fashionable now." She turned to Anne again, "And speaking of fashion, if you _were_ wanting us all to admire you Anne, then I should tell you I was admiring your little blue coat when we were at the hall earlier, I had one very like it, about _five_ years ago."

"Identical, I'd say," said the man next to her. "Didn't you go home and change from a coat just like that one?"

Anne shared a little smirk with Katherine and then held out her hand to him. "We haven't been introduced, I think."

"This is Ronald Clay." Josie announced, as though introductions could hardly be necessary. "Ronald, this is Anne Shirley. A school teacher."

"Now I remember," he said, "you won the Avery. Emily Clay is a cousin of mine..."

The name brought back memories of her own; Ronald certainly had some of the Clay looks; both overly tall and ruddy faced, with shiny pale blue eyes.

"Oh, I've often wondered what became of Miss Clay! This is Katherine Brook, Ronald, she's a Queen's girl too." Anne said.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Brook." His hand engulfing Katherine's as it had Anne's. "Emily's in Ottawa now, she's a secretary for some rail magnate."

"Oh, that sounds exciting-" Katherine began.

"Ronald is in banking." Josie piped in.

"Well, yes. I'm a teller at Lorcan-Dorset in Charlottetown."

"Ronald's family felt it would be best for him to start his career from the ground up -get a real understanding of the banking business." Josie added.

"Oh" Anne said with a wink, "I take it you are from one of those venerable Charlottetown families, with all those secret handshakes and inscrutable Old Country traditions." He certainly didn't look it; his coat seemed rather thin and his scarf though exquisitely knitted was an unfortunate shade of red, but Anne knew first hand from Summerside, that these old families could be rather eccentric.

"Well, now, no. Not at all. We're from a little place just out of Kingsport actually. My folks came here to try their hand at potatoes..."

"_Old _Country indeed!" Josie cut in once more, "Anne Shirley! Rubbing shoulders with all those Pringles has certainly rubbed off on you. I'd have thought _you'd_ be the first to call for _new_ blood in this old burg. I remember you being quite the sensation at one time. Of course you've got yourself attached to the Blythes now -I _do_ hope they come to accept you, Anne dear, they can be awfully clannish, those old families."

"Yes I suppose that's true." said Anne, "some families will never give an outsider a chance. They make their mind up not to like a person and their minds will not be unmade. But I'm sure that won't be your experience, Mr Clay."

Josie simmered through Anne's reply. Somehow she had managed to make _her_ beau an ally of Anne's! Wasn't it enough she had Gilbert Blythe on a little leash -now she wanted Ronny too. No wonder Diana Wright was _always so busy_ – so busy keeping Fred from Anne Shirley's path.

"- certainly hope not." Ronald was saying.

"Well, I would hardly characterise Ronald as an outsider the way _you_ were-" Josie suddenly stopped short, as Gilbert joined their circle.

"Katherine, I'm glad you're still here," he said, "Daniel Boulter was asking after you. If you're free you might join him and Sophia on the porch." Katherine excused herself with a pink cheek, before Gilbert proceeded. "Now Josie, what were you saying, it couldn't have been about Anne?" He slipped in behind his girl and placed his arms about her waist. "You're Island to the core, aren't you Anne-girl?" he said, brushing his cheek against her flaming hair. Anne felt as though she had the face to match it; the heat from the fire seemed to radiate through her. "And how are you, Clay? I haven't seen you since that fundraiser for the hospital. What have you been up to?" Gilbert continued.

"Well, let's see-" Ronald began.

"-He's getting _me_ a drink, is what he's doing, aren't you Ronny?" Josie gave him the smallest push in the direction of the porch where refreshments had been set up. "And not that _ghastly_ mulled wine either -all those cloves remind me of toothache!" she winced.

"Then I shall get something for you too, Anne."

Gilbert had released her was already walking swiftly in the direction of Ronald, before Anne could answer. The air around her felt like a furnace and she was starting to feel uncomfortably warm; she began to unbutton her coat, and was reaching for her cap before she remembered that Gilbert must still have it.

"Oh, Gil's still got my hat..." Anne muttered quickly, and wriggled out of the crowd before Josie could say another word.

Gilbert was waiting for her where the crowd had thinned, hazel eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Couldn't get away fast enough, could you?" Anne gave him a grim little smile.

"The last place I wanted to find myself at midnight was next to Josie Pye! Besides you made a speedy escape yourself."

"I was after my hat, of course."

He gave it to her but she didn't put it on; as Josie would have noted to her satisfaction. The two made their way back through the garden, its path through the snow considerably widened since they had walked along it earlier that evening. They saw Katherine perched upon the railing of the porch, with three or four others gathered round her, all laughing and talking animatedly. Gilbert looked down at Anne and gave her arm a little squeeze, knowing how happy such a scene must make her. He went to the small trestle table situated nearby, for two mugs of mulled wine, while Anne went to her friend.

"Oh Anne!" Katherine said, "I hope you didn't mind my leaving you by the fire, I was afraid I might disgrace you and say something unpleasant."

"I can't imagine it would have been anything I wasn't thinking myself," said Anne.

"I see now how you survived all _my_ barbs for so long; having cut your teeth on that cat!" Katherine giggled, her cheeks reddening prettily, to the appreciation of one or two in her circle.

The difference, Anne reflected, was that Katherine had needed her love. Josie had never wanted anything from Anne, except perhaps her swift departure back to Nova Scotia!

Gilbert approached, his hands brimming with fragrant brews. "Katherine, will you have one?" he offered.

"I can get you one if you'd like?" said Tommy Sloane boldly. Daniel Boulter had the look of one who wished he'd thought of such a thing.

Anne sipped at her drink tentatively, and found it deliciously quaffable. The aromas and tastes infused within her, building its own merry blaze. She tucked her cap into the deep pocket of her coat -she wouldn't be needing that for a while. Katherine, it seemed had no great need of her either, except as an extra pair of hands to hold all the beverages being offered her. Anne turned to find Gilbert staring at her intently, with darkling eyes that said "Shall we?"

They quietly, secretly melted away.

**...**

He pulled her along, faster and faster, his fingers slipping in and out of her hand, as they ran down to the field. The heat hit them almost before the light; the bonfire like a golden sun, encircled by people drifting round it like satellites. He led her in toward the crowd and then just as quickly led her out again; weaving her between bodies and twirling her around. Anne felt dazzled and daunted with every pull of her wrist; there she had been, halted abruptly in front of Mrs Harmon Andrews and before she could even bid apology for treading on the latter's voluminous skirts, was wrenched along behind the generous sized person of Mr Andrew Bell -where Gilbert stole a sharp little kiss- and she could scarcely respond before they were off again.

Presently they found themselves breathless and bright-eyed on the far side of the bonfire where the other courting couples had drifted. Gilbert pressed in behind Anne again, he touched his cheek against her and she felt his hot breath tickle her eyelashes. His hands slid their way to her waist again, and down, into her coat pockets, and then, in the next delectable minute she felt his fingers pressing against the silken lining of her coat to draw circles through her skirts upon her thighs. Little fires burst throughout her body.

"I'm sorry to have to interrupt your hands, Gilbert Blythe," she murmured into his neck, "but I'm going to have to remove my coat. The fire is stifling."

"I'm sorry too," though he was hardly surprised; as she pulled away he could still feel her heat upon his body. "Shall we go and see what else this tree can do?"

They walked carefully along the west boundary of the field where the remaining logs from the giant tree lined up like miner's wagons ready to be driven away. Here the light of the fire competed with the stars above and the only warmth to be had came from the two of them. The cold air seemed sweet in their mouths, and they breathed deeply as if to slake a violent thirst. At the last cut log they stopped and Gilbert removed his coat and lay it across a deep indentation where the trunk had begun to burst into branches. Then his hands were at her waist again, and he lifted her the short distance to her seat, where she did not alight as gracefully as she might have wished, and lurched a little awkwardly into the cleft between the branches' stumps.

"Let's try that again, shall we?" Gilbert winked and helped her down, then slipping her coat from her shoulders, rolled and pressed it into her seat. When he went to lift Anne a second time his hands missed her waist and slid up to her armpits. He could feel the unmistakable swell of her breasts and the jolt caused him to lift her higher than he intended and she landed with a plop. He pulled his hands away from her as if he'd burnt them.

"Are you warm enough?" Gilbert asked for want of something to say. Anne had the feeling she soon would not be, yet nodded her head that she was.

"And you?" she thought to ask him after a moment. He was not – and thought how glad he would be to warm himself upon her now.

From across the field faint strains of Auld Lang Syne could be heard, the year was new once more. Gilbert took a step closer to Anne, she sat at equal height to him now; and placed a chaste kiss upon her head.

"Happy..."

He kissed her nose, "...New..."

He began teasing the corners of her mouth, and pulling at her bottom lip delicately and maddeningly. She slowly pulled her head away. Gilbert looked her hard in the eye and took a step closer. His thighs butted against her knees. She held his gaze and brushed the merest touch of her mouth upon one cheek. "...Happy..." she whispered, and then moved to the other, "...New..." the word more breath than sound. Then she stopped at his mouth; and lips and knees began to part. Gilbert's skin felt electric, his body felt charged. There was not another step to take.

They were pressed together as close as they could be. He felt the softness of her thigh, she felt the firmness of his hip, and lips quivered against lips as they had the very first time they kissed. Their eyes were open, searching, asking, their bodies arched into each other, their mouths breathing in the air the other breathed out.

It was Gilbert who laughed this time.

"What? What is it Gil?"

"I-I don't know Anne. I'm just so happy I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"I mean I don't know why I'm laughing. It's just we're here and I love you and I spend so much of my time not being here and loving you, and it just makes me so happy."

"I suppose..."

"_You_ suppose?"

"Exactly how happy are you?"

"Anne, don't you feel how happy I am?"

Anne felt something, though it felt more akin to bliss. So this was happiness; could she ever utter the word again without blushing?

"Do you feel how happy I am?" she asked shyly.

She felt hot and soft, curved, strong, open and still ...unknowable. Gilbert inched his body away, and the cool air between them electrified them still. He grasped both her hands, their fingers intertwining tightly.

"I know a nice way to find out."

He kissed her now, and all the passion that she had felt in his body was pressed into this kiss. She had the inexplicable desire to entwine their legs as they did their hands. How could it be that as one part of her was kissed she seemed only to become aware that another part of her longed for something much like kisses too? He seemed to magnify rather than satisfy this desire, and she couldn't keep her body from shivering.

When their lips finally parted their brows met, and their eyes continued the kiss for another long while. He seemed to see into her; and it was frightening and wonderful.

"You can't hide it any longer, Anne-"

Unconsciously she drew her knees a little closer, a prickle of embarrassment -or was it just the night air- made her shiver once again.

"-you are _freezing_."

"Well your nose is red..."

"Your lips are blue!"

"Then they'll match my coat."

"I'm not so sure, let me get it for you and we'll see."

Gilbert helped her down once more; she was brought back to earth, and it was frozen beneath her feet.

**...**

They made their way past the bonfire, and saw the parents and children and lovers were gone. Only those big-sized children remained, poking and prying the blood red wood, teasing sparks and cracks from the charred remains and then jumping back with squeals as if this well-tamed fire might come for them after all.

On the porch two or three others had retrieved potatoes from the cellar to set among the embers for a feast at dawn. Ronald Clay was proclaiming the perfections of one of Abner Sloane's King Edwards to Josie, who listened with rapt attention as though he held a diamond in his hands. Katherine had a basket at her hip, and was waiting while Victor Bell chased some fallen potatoes that were rolling around her feet. She and Anne shared a look that said neither wanted to go. Gilbert's face, if they had seen it in that instant, showed he didn't dare to stay. He was thinking, he was forcing himself think, upon the work he would do with his father and uncle in the next two days, before he must make his way back to Kingsport. He would not see Anne again, until perhaps the spring, and until then all he would have of her were the letters she wrote, and the memories they made; and the ache this gave him, and the longing.

He ached for her now, missing the exquisite feel of her lips murmuring against his ear. She was tucked up behind him -with as much attention as any Arty Gillis might give- with Katherine, and the two were chatting dozily under the covers.

The porch at Green Gables burned brightly, and Katherine made a sweetly brief goodbye to Gilbert before she disappeared indoors. Anne stood on the threshold of the sleigh, not quite willing to touch down yet. Her shining grey eyes seemed to look straight into him, and he wished she might stay there and become a part of himself.

She leant forward and kissed him very softly.

"Year," she said.

"Year?" he answered back. A fresh little breeze swirled round the two and whispered across their faces.

"We never wished each other the _year_, Gilbert; our happy new year..."

He was remembering now; and knew he would recall the feel of her wrapped tightly around him, every single day of it.

"-and all our happy new years to _come,_" Anne was saying. "Years..." she kissed him, "...years..." then another, "...years..." and her lips were upon his once more...

"Years..." he continued, "Years ...and years ...and years ...and years ...and years..."


End file.
